


Styles' Anatomy

by heavyheart



Series: Styles' Anatomy [1]
Category: Grey's Anatomy, One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU, F/M, M/M, Multi, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-17
Updated: 2012-12-17
Packaged: 2017-11-21 09:53:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/596362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heavyheart/pseuds/heavyheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Styles is trying to move past the legacy of his legend of a surgeon mother by making his mark at St. Georges Hospital in the heart of London. Falling into a complicated relationship with one of the attendings and getting wrapped up in the drama of his peers is just icing on the cake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Styles' Anatomy

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter Summary: First-year intern Harry Styles, son of a famous surgeon, meets his fellow interns on his first day at St. Georges Hospital.  
> Disclaimer: I do not own any of the boys or any of their personalities, etc. Credit for the story line and chapter summary’s go completely to the makers and creators of Grey’s Anatomy. There are also certain quotes/speeches/characters that are taken directly from the show. No copyright infringement intended, blah blah, blah blah.

* * *

Harry wakes up next to a man that smells like his own shampoo mixed with cheap cologne, and his alarm beeping loudly from its place in his upstairs bedroom (he laughs a bit at himself, for a moment, because he obviously hadn't shown much restraint, seeing as they’re both sprawled across the floor of the living room with nothing other than pillows to cushion the ground). He glances at the guy, with the fringe falling into his eyes as he puffs out little sleepy breaths, the scruff of a beard showing on his chin, and can’t help but smile. He may have been a mistake, but it was probably a worthwhile one. If only Harry could manage to remember a minute of it past the many shots of tequila, and humiliating flirting that he’d taken part in at the bar.

Nudging the boy with one foot, Harry pulls a pair of trackies out of the laundry basket and tugs them on, crooking a grin when he shifts and looks up at Harry with big, clouded blue eyes.

” ‘ve got to get going, mate,” Harry says, “first day of work, and all.”

“Ahh,” he says, voice scratchy and sweet from sleep. That’s when Harry remembers his name, remembers it being whispered into his ear like a seductive purr as he introduced himself.  _Louis_.

“Yeah, sorry, I would cook you breakfast, in the least, but,” a glance at the clock. “I’m really running late. Sorry, Louis,” he likes the taste of the name on his tongue.

Louis smiles a bit, at that, and begins to gather his clothes together. “No problem, I understand. Should get going myself, too.” There’s a minute of skin against fabric and it’s quiet but not uncomfortably so, like they both know this is a bit ridiculous but are choosing to avoid it for the sake of further embarrassment. 

“Sorry the place is such a mess,” Harry starts again, and he wishes he could just stop talking, but Louis’ lips are pretty and his smile is lovely and his eyes are all lit up, now that he’s awake. “Just moved, the place used to be my mums, trying to sell it.” He could go into detail, about how she’s in a home now because her Alzheimer’s reached a new breed of awful and she could never remember which room her bedroom was in, how he’d come to visit her after graduating med school only to find her asleep in the bathtub, but. He figures that’s a little too personal for a one night stand. 

Apparently Louis feels the same. “No worries.” A pause. “You don’t- have to do that. That thing, where we make a conversation, so it seems like we used each other less. It’s a bit useless, in my opinion.”

Harry can feel his cheeks flush red. “Yeah, yeah. Sure, mate.”

\------

Of course, Harry is late. He doesn’t blame Louis, not really, but no matter how pretty Louis was, this job is far more important than anything Harry’s done thus far. It’s all been leading up to this point, if he thinks about it. All the hours, weeks, months of preparation. All the nights of his childhood spent listening to his mum tell him about her surgeries from the previous days work, the times she’d draw out a procedure on the kitchen table in the middle of the night just to find a way to operate on an inoperable tumor. All the thousands spent on Med School and the space in his brain now taken up with tiny useless procedures and textbook words without meaning. So, being late is a bit of a bummer, and walking into a room full of his new coworkers, all of them dressed fancy and pristine with serious looks clouding their faces, is shockingly terrifying. But he shoves his way into the middle of the crowd, and turns an ear towards the front, where the famous Simon Cowell is standing, about to give his speech. As far as Harry's heard, he’s kind of a General Surgeon genius.

Cowell clears his throat before speaking. “Everyone here today is hopeful. You all think you’re the best, and if you don’t think that, you’ll be weeded out fast. Confidence is key. Believe in your skill, but know your limits. A week ago you were in med school, being taught by doctors. Today, you are the doctors.” Harry likes his style. Blunt, but oddly supportive. It works nicely, gets the crowd of 23 year olds nervous before restoring their faith in themselves. “The seven years you spend here as a surgical resident will be the best and worst of your life, you will be pushed to the breaking point. Look around you, say hello to your competition. Eight of you will switch to an easier specialty, five of you will crack under the pressure and two of you will be asked to leave.” He gives a pointed look around, making eye contact with several of the young doctors. “This is your crossroad, this is your stage. How will you perform?” 

When the speech ends, everyone erupts into applause, Harry included. He has to admit the guy knows what he’s doing, motivates the crowd well enough that even Harry wants to hear more. Instead, the room turns into a crazy mess of yelled instructions from supervisors, and Harry is pulled and pushed and given a pale blue set of scrubs that match everyone else’s pale blue scrubs, and he feels himself fade into the crowd.

Names are being yelled now, gathering the groups of interns into herds and posse’s with barely older doctors to guide them through it. He hears Anderson, McGuire, Alan, Schneider, and more, but his isn’t called. He taps his feet impatiently. 

“There’s only 6 birds out of twenty,” Harry mutters under his breath, looking around at the small cluster of girls that seem to have migrated towards one another.

A blonde bloke to his left snorts, pulling on his white lab jacket. “Fuckin’ ridiculous. Don’t worry though, apparently one of us is a model,” he laughs at that, rolls his eyes like it’s the most pretentious thing he’s ever heard.

Harry recognizes him from the dinner they had months ago to welcome them to the program- he’s supposed to be some sort of wizard. “Niall, right?” The guy nods, listening over his shoulder to the voice on the loud speaker echoing through the locker room.

"Harry." A firm hand shake, easy smile. Harry likes him already.

“Who’s your resident?” Niall’s asking, buttoning up his jacket. “Please tell me you’ve got the Nazi with me, haven’t met a soul yet that has her, a bit bummed if I’m honest.”

“If by Nazi you mean Bailey, then yeah. Hear she’s good, though. I don’t need nice, just need talented.” Harry replies.

Niall raises an approving eyebrow. A guy to their left is listening in pretty obviously, staring at Harry like he’s something to eat. ”Can I help you?” Niall spits, clearly annoyed with the eavesdropping. Harry holds in a smile.

The guy stutters, biting on his tongue, and runs a hand through mousy hair. “I’ve got her too. The Nazi. I’m George.” He sticks out a shaking hand. “George O’Malley. Think we met at the dinner, you were with your boyfriend,” his voice is high pitched and awkward, eyes focused solely on Harry. It’d be kind of adorable, if he wasn’t making him so uncomfortable. 

“We broke up,” Harry says, but offers a smile when George’s face twists into something like embarrassed panic. “No worries, mate. You American?”

He nods his head fast, finally letting go of Harry’s hand, and shuts his locker. “Yeah, moved here to study under-“

“Mate, shut it.” Niall interjects, kneeling down and tying his shoe. “Nobody cares. He asked because he’s polite.” Harry chokes on a laugh, and goes to apologize, but then there’s a voice on the loudspeaker again, and this time it’s saying his name.

“Horan, Malik, Styles, O’Malley, Payne.”

There’s a moment of blood curling panic in the pit of Harry’s stomach before he manages to stand, pick up his clipboard and follow Niall’s steady lead towards the stout black woman leaning against the counter of the receptionists desk.

“She doesn’t look very threatening,” George murmurs, and Harry can tell it’s supposed to be a joke, so he laughs. The kid is kind of irresistibly awkward.

“You don’t know that! I mean, she could be awful, or maybe she’s nice. Maybe she’ll like us. Like  _me_.” The voice comes from behind them, from a boy walking fast with his clipboard pressed tight to his chest and a wild grin on his lips. Niall rolls his eyes at the guy, something Harry thinks he’s going to be seeing quite a lot of, and snorts. The kid walks right up to Bailey, sticks his steady hand out, and smiles wider than Harry thought previously possible. “I’m Liam Payne, really excited to work with you, ma’am.”

Bailey looks at his hand for a moment before pursing her lips and moving herself away from it, turning to face the group. She’s eyeing them all, sizing them up, and it makes Harry squirm in place. “I have a lot of rules, but I’m not going to waste my time spelling them out for you. Learn them, learn me. Follow everything I do, and do not, under any circumstances, waste my damn time.” She turns on her heel and heads down the hall. Niall is the first to take the initiative to follow her, with Harry on his heels, pace matched with the others. They’re passed pagers, all with their names plastered on the back of them, and constant instructions are thrown over her shoulder at them. Their 48 hour shift has begun.

They’re given a brief tour, to the On Call rooms, and the trauma center, one of the OR viewing rooms along with the X-Ray examining places. It’s plenty intimidating, but as Niall puts it, it’s more brill than anything. Harry can’t stop looking around, committing every word to memory, because he’s here, he’s done it. It’s happening.

It’s a bit surreal when Baileys pager goes off, beeping wildly at its place on her hip, and she twists and runs at a sprint down another hallway. Remembering her rules from earlier, they follow right after her, trying not to knock into too many people in their rush to keep up. She leads them to the roof, where a helicopter is preparing to land. There’s shouting and gurneys and demands are thrust around until the patient is being wheeled out, passed over to their waiting hands by the paramedics manning the copter.

“What do we got?” Bailey shouts above the noise, gesturing to the young blonde girl on the bed.

“15 year old female, seizures, intermittent,” the paramedic hands Harry a binder, which he can only assume is her file, and the rest of her words are lost in the wind. It says her name is Katie Brice.

By the time they get her to the Emergency room, everything is a blur. Ten greedy intern hands are hovering over the patient, trying to hold her still as she rocks through another episode, shoulders fighting against their grip and legs flopping aimlessly. Bailey is shouting instructions and Niall is expertly giving her meds through a IV tube, tying her arm down so she won’t jerk it out when the next one hits.

A woman walks into the room when the seizures have subsided, and Bailey introduces her as Priscilla Burke. She tells Bailey some shorthand that doesn’t yet make any sense to Harry, and then turns to the crowd. “Run every test you can, for this one. She’s running out of time, and we need a diagnosis quick.”

“Horan, you’re labs.” Bailey hands the file Harry received only minutes ago to Niall. “O’Malley, patient work-ups.” George shoots a terrified look to Harry, who can only shrug and go back to regulating the meds she’s being given. “Harry…” Bailey eyes the adjustments he’s making, nodding in hesitant (if not slightly annoyed) agreement. “You get Katie a CT, she’s in your hands now,” his jaw drops, just a little, and he hears Niall curse in jealousy from behind him.

Liam raises his hand. “What can I do?”

“Rectal exams,” Bailey says flatly, not looking the least bit amused by his school boy behavior. George and Harry try to hold in their laughter, but Niall lets it loose, howling on his way out of the room.

“Enjoy, princess,” he sing-songs.

Harry hears about them in passing from some of the residents, gossiping loudly about how George is charming with the patients and Niall is too insistent and on edge and determined. He even hears one women talking about how Liam is moving fast through the exams, which makes Harry feel torn between cringing and being impressed.

Harry, however, is busy getting lost in the depths of the hospital as he tries to run Katie around to her many scans and check-ups.

“Where are we? Do you even know where you're going?” Katie is awake and fully attentive now, running her mouth more than Harry can possibly deem necessary. They  _are_  lost, so he doesn’t answer her question, just lets her ramble on about the beauty pageant she’s missing and how horribly and terribly and godly unfair it all is.

"My talent is Rythmic Gymnastics," she informs him, twirling a piece of blond hair between her fingers. "and last week I fell, and like, god, it was  _terrifying_ , I thought I was going to  _die_. Turns out I only got this little bruise." Katie points out a yellowing spot on her shoulder. "Still scary, though." 

Today will be a long one. 

\------

By hour 7 of their 48 hour shift, Niall’s starving. He heads down to the caf, hand tired from writing and typing and copying down useless information on a patient he’s barely been able to touch. Liam won’t eat, says he can still smell the arse stench of old men on his hands, (which Niall actually does laugh at, surprisingly enough) and swears off of food until it's gone. George is complaining about Burke and how apparently he’s already earned her hatred, something about not being able to find a vein to draw blood from earlier in the day. Niall rolls his eyes at that one, because he can’t help but feel that the kid is completely daft.

Niall, however, has more important things to discuss, so he interrupts George in order to spill the details to the two still complaining about their days. “Wanna know why Harry got the patient today?” He asks. He doesn’t wait for an answer, because George’s mouth is full of some strange looking sandwich and Liam is gnawing at a strip of celery. “He’s Anne Styles’ son.”

Liam’s veggies literally fall out of his mouth, it pops open so wide. “Anne Styles? Like, the living legend Anne Styles?!” His eyebrows are rising high on his head and he runs a hand over his buzzed hair cut. “That is absolutely brill.”

Niall gives a sound of agreement mixed with jealousy, ignoring George, who seems to have no idea who she is. “To have a mother who won the Harper Avery Award…twice.” Niall says wistfully. “Jesus fuck, I’d kill.”

“I’d serial kill, that’s mad! She must know everything, she must-” Liam is interrupted by George kicking him in the shin, signaling for him to shut up as Harry slumps down into the seat next to Niall.

“All right?” Harry mumbles, mouth full of salad as he gestures around the table. “My day’s been shit, took the wrong size needle, mixed up the schedule…” He shakes out his curls and drags a hand down his face.

Liam is staring at him with crazy eyes, which makes Harry squirm in place. Before any of them can respond, though, Priscilla Burke marches up to their table and announces the first and supposedly most promising intern will be offered to scrub in on a surgery today.

“Since I’m in charge of the ER this shift, I get to decide who that is. I’ve thought a lot about this, and I’ve chosen…” she glances around the circle, to the other tables of interns that have turned their attention towards her, and then glances down at George. “George O’Malley, congratulations.”

When she walks away, no one claps. “Thought you said she hated you,” Niall comments grumpily.

George grimaces and rubs at one eye. “I feel like this a joke. A joke that I really, really won’t think is funny later.”

\------

Harry is feeling more than a little overwhelmed, sinking back further and further with every question thrown by Katie’s parents. “I-” he starts out, but he can barely get a word in edgewise. He can see where Katie gets her talkative nature from. “Look, I’m… I’ll get you Katie’s doctor, yeah? She’ll be able to answer your questions more in depth than I will. Just wait here, I’ll be back.”

He escapes out the door, spins towards the main hallway and exhales a giant sigh of relief when he sees Bailey. “Who do I direct the parents questions to, if I can’t answer them? I’d rather not, erm, mess up the information, and I can’t find Burke,” he says quietly, biting on a nail.

Surprisingly, Bailey only nods distractedly and looks around. “Burke’s off the case, we ruled out most of her heart issues as being causes.” She pauses. “Well, um… let’s see, find the new attending assigned to your case, and brief him on it. Dr. Tomlinson. He’s over… there.” She waves a hand to her left, in the general direction of the nurses information tables, and leaves.

Harry groans, inwardly, before glancing around. He’s not sure why he’s expected to just be able to spot Tomlinson, because he really hasn’t got time to go prancing around asking people where he can find his attending. 

And that’s when Harry sees him. He stands out like a sore thumb, but not in a bad way. Hair styled into an excellent short-cut quiff, glasses Harry didn’t see last night perched on his nose, laugh loud as he listens to a story told by a doctor standing next to him. It’s undeniably  _Louis_.

He wants to run away. Really, that’s all he can think about doing, but. His feet are somehow glued to the floor, stuck flat and un-moving as his brain begins to panic. As luck would have it, Louis looks up, smiling big with dancing eyes as he glances around the open space of the receptionist area, before landing on Harry. His eyes widen a nearly comical amount, and Harry can’t breathe, finally forces his feet to move backward and through the door that hopefully leads somewhere that’s not here, because  _fuck_ , and  _god please why_ , and  _this is absolutely mortifying_.

Louis catches up to him before he can even turn the first corner, pulls him through a door Harry hasn’t been to and into a staircase lit up by the sun of the passing day.

“Dr. Tomlinson,” Harry’s voice is strangled, palms sweaty, head spinning, as he reads his name tag aloud. “Let go.”

Louis glances down at their hands, where Louis’ small one is trying to wrap itself around Harry’s muscled, thick wrist. He smiles out of the corner of his mouth and looks back up at Harry. “Dr. Tomlinson, now?” A quick quirk of his eyebrows. “Not what you called me last night.”

“Oh, God,” Harry’s face flushes bright red. Louis seems to have that effect on him. “This- this is no good. I can’t do this.”

Louis eyes him carefully.

“I’m an intern! And you’re…”

“I’m your attending,” Louis finishes for him, smirking full on. “I don’t see a problem.”

For a moment, Harry feels himself cave towards the boy who smells so good he could bury himself in it, feels his knees weaken just a bit, because his glasses are fucking adorable and he looks so goddamn smug with his little fingers wrapped tightly around his wrist, still, but. 

But this is a once in a lifetime job, and Louis is probably a once in a lifetime person, but Harry can do without people. He’s  _used_  to doing without people, in fact. 

“Well, erm. I do. So please, let me go.” Harry manages a wane smile before barreling down a flight of stairs and breaking through the exit door that leads to the hospital, breathing fast. Nothing, and no one, will get in the way of proving himself.

\-----

When George’s surgery with Burke finally comes around, they all pile into the viewing room. Snacks are brought in and waters passed around, the volume of the corner speakers turned up loud enough that they can hear him repeating steps of the procedure over and over to himself, on an endless loop. The crowd of interns are all throwing out bets; for how long they think he’ll last before he faints, and if he’ll make it though without shitting his pants.

“He’s going to bomb the whole thing,” one guy says, pressed close to the glass separating them. “Going to be a right laugh, if you ask me.” There are grunts of agreement. Harry guesses that George doesn’t even know the kids name.

“He probably can’t even locate the fuckin’ appendix,” Niall adds on, rolling his shoulders.

Harry looks down at George, at his shaking hands and the sweat forming on his forehead that is being wiped away by an on call nurse. “I think he’s going to kick arse,” Harry whispers, and it’s mostly supposed to be for himself, quiet enough he was sure it would go undetected. The room falls silent though, and Harry rubs the back of his head, feeling awkward. “I mean, c’mon. It’s not like any of us would be much better. This is a big moment for him, you know? Let’s stick together, and all.”

For a moment, Harry thinks his awkward half ass attempt at sticking up for his new friend might have worked, but it only takes another 30 seconds before new bets are being rolled out, laughter echoing wickedly in the enclosed space.

A pretty boy with smooth skin walks in then, laughing at something another intern is saying and shoving grapes daintily into his mouth. He looks amused by the sight of George, just like everyone else in the room. Harry’s starting to get sick of these people already. When Simon and Burke walk in to assist with the surgery, the group of twenty interns explodes into sarcastic applause.

It goes well for a little while- the appendix is removed and safely placed in a metal bin with one of the nurses (Harry takes this as some kind of weird victory, watching the shocked faces of those around him) but it all turns to shit when he twists his hand too tight and the patient starts to bleed. He could use suction, should use suction, and they all know it, Burke is whispering it in his ear, and god, he  _has to know it_ , but he chokes. George chokes and Harry has never felt so much sympathy for someone in his whole life.

They nickname him 007. Liam asks what it means, as they’re walking out of the room, looking slightly guilty but still laughing behind his palm. He’s got ten pounds in his hand from another intern who bet him George wouldn’t even start the surgery, clutched in a death grip like it’s some kind of godsend. Harry’s not surprised, most interns are kind of starved.

“It means ‘License to Kill’,” Harry grumbles, heaving out a sigh.

And George knows, groans about it when he hears, lays down on a cot in the empty supply floor the four of them have decided to call their own and sighs about how unfair but also typical all of this is. For a moment, Liam and Harry manage to convince him it’s not true, and Niall joins in because god, the kid will just not shut up, but George doesn’t exactly buy it. 

They’re all having a hard time working with Bailey. She falls asleep more than she probably should, and they don’t want to wake her but they need to, more often than not. She’s grumpy, intolerable, and semi insane after her naps, but after five minutes of being awake it tends to subside into lidded annoyance. They take this knowledge and run with it, making tactics and plans to somehow escape the worst of her wrath without letting her fall asleep again. Liam taps her shoulder before diving into the empty room behind her, and Niall ‘accidentally’ shoves a nurse into her, which causes profuse apologies from the nurse and eats up plenty of grumpy Bailey time. They usually manage to catch her just as she’s walking to find a new place to lie down, and act as innocent as possible (but when you’re purposefully hitting your boss with full grown people as a means to wake her up, innocence is a hard thing to feign). It’ll have to work for now, they’re running out of ideas.

Harry sees the pretty mocha skinned boy again while he’s filling out Katie’s charts in the nurses station. He’s got shaggy black hair  (styled far too carefully to be accidental) falling over his forehead, and brown eyes that Harry is sure have melted hearts. He’s talking to some nurse, making gestures towards his chart before shoving it, annoyed, into her hands. He walks up to Harry and offers a smile, all dazzling white teeth with his tongue stuck dorkily between them.

“Zayn,” he says, as a way of introduction. “You’re with Bailey, right?”

Harry nods his head, flips through another sheet of paper. Tries not to get distracted by the gorgeous boy in front of him. 

“Yeah. ‘m Harry.”

“So you know the 007 lad? What a bloody idiot.” Zayn’s voice is high pitched and kind of giggly, but Harry can see through it.

“It’s the slow ones that surprise you,” is all Harry says, because maybe he should stop being so defensive about George. Zayn snorts and rolls his eyes before walking away, nodding to a few of the younger nurses on their way by.

Harry could see himself falling for the other boy, if he wasn’t such a complete arsehole.

He forgets about Zayn, however, when his pager goes off in a 911. Harry can’t run fast enough- up a back staircase and through a bustling part of the hospital, hoping with his entire being that he’s headed in the right direction. 

When he gets to her room, she’s seizing in her bed, a mix of ten nurses and doctors busting and moving about, not panicked but too fast for Harry, too fast for him to get a grip on what’s going on.

“She’s having multiple grand mal seizures-” A nurse is saying, and it’s directed at Harry, straight at him, because Burke isn’t here because she’s off the case and Dr. Tomlinson is no where in sight and Bailey is probably sleeping somewhere and- “do you have a plan of action, Dr. Styles? How do you want to proceed? I just gave her the second dose of Dilantin, 2 milligrams. Dr. Styles, are you listening to me?”

It clicks for Harry, then- not the way to proceed, but the feeling of being able to take over. This is his patient, Katie is in his care, and he needs to step up. “Alright, we need to page Bailey and Tomlinson. Again. We’ve used the max amount of Dilantin for her weight, so just-” he glances down at her chart, which has been shoved into his hand. He knows this stuff. He went through 4 years of med school to know this stuff. “Fill her with Felbatol,” 

They do, and nothing changes. She’s not responding to any of her medications.

Katie’s heart stops, then.

“Code blue!”

“Get the defibrillator,” Harry shouts, moving past nurses and shoving his way towards her. “Charge to 200… clear.”

“300.”

“360.”

“We can’t-” A nurse is trying to interrupt, talking about rules and proper procedures. 

“Charge again,” Harry growls. 

They do, and Katie’s heart starts up again. The nurses sigh out of relief and one even gives him a high five, murmuring something about how it was kind of ‘ _bad ass, but stupid as hell_ ’. Harry will take the compliment.

Louis bursts into the room then, fringe flying and white lab coat waving in the wake he leaves behind him. “What the bloody hell happened?!” He demands, rushing over to Katie and checking her monitors, pulse. He’s starting at Harry, who is frozen on the spot. “ _Dr. Styles_ , I asked you, what the hell happened?”

“I-” Harry’s head is spinning, because Louis looks really fucking annoyed, and he just called him Dr. Styles, not Harry, and Harry knows that’s what he wanted, but. “She was seizing, and I had to-“

“You were supposed to be monitoring her every move, Styles. Out. Now.”

It’s probably his fault, Harry realizes, knows Louis’s right, that it shouldn’t have gotten to that degree, but this is all so incredibly new and raw that he finds himself running out the door of the hospital, sprinting over to a grouping of bushes and emptying out all of the food that he’s consumed thus far in the 48 hour shift.

“Fuckin’ nasty, mate,”

It’s Niall’s voice, the distinctive Irish accent, coming from behind him. A warm hand on his shoulder, a quick squeeze. Harry breathes a sigh of silent relief that it’s him and not Liam, not George. He doesn’t want to be fretted over.

“If you tell a fucking soul, Niall Horan-” Harry starts.

The boy holds up his hands in surrender. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

\------

The interns are gathered in a room at the twenty four hour mark. George and Niall and Liam are all squeezed into a love seat, and Harry makes room for himself between them, snuggling down and sighing loudly. 

“Why are we even here? It’s time for my fuckin’ break,” Niall grumbles, stuffing a couple of pretzels into his mouth. 

George shrugs, looking defeated and completely worn out. Liam, who’s actually managed to loosen up a bit, smiles at them. “I’m sure it something fun! Some kind of a reward for making it halfway, or something.”

Harry doubts it, when it’s Dr. Tomlinson that walks in the room, holding a clipboard that Harry is almost sure is Katie’s. 

“Alright, hello, I’m Dr. Tomlinson, head of Neuro here at London Styles Hospital. I’ve got you all here because I need your help. You’re young, freshly educated, and a bit inexperienced, but you’re eager, and I need that.” Everyone nods, interested now. “I’ve got a patient- Katie Brice. 15 years old. She’s having seizures, and we don’t know why. Her charts come up clean, everything we’ve tested makes her look like she should be just dandy… but she’s not.” He runs a hand through his hair, pats what’s left of his quiff into its rightful place. “There are folders on the table, one for each of you, with all of her information. Study it, memorize it, fix it. Find out what’s wrong with Katie, why she’s having these episodes. And I know this is just more work, that you’re all already exhausted and tired and drained, so fancy this- which ever one of you finds out what’s wrong with Katie gets to scrub in to assist, with me, on an advanced procedure.” There’s a collective whisper going around. Niall straightens from his slouched position, Liam gapes. “The clock is ticking- figure it out.”

Niall turns to him when the rest of the room has cleared out- George off to find Burke and his case that the others aren’t invested in, Liam to see what he can find on Katie. The pretty kid, Zayn, is talking annoyingly loud to another intern, telling him what he’s been doing with the patient he’s working with is completely wrong. He’s such an arsehole it makes Harry cringe. 

“Earth to Harry?” Niall chirps, standing up and offering him a hand. Harry takes it, lets himself be pulled up. “Look, we should do this thing together. It’ll go faster if we figure the shit out with two of us, you know? And then we fight for it, or summat.” 

“I’ll help you, but I don’t want in on the surgery. It’s yours if we win.” Harry’s being stupid, he knows it, still licking old wounds from something that happened hours previous, but. But Louis doesn’t want him in the surgery, and Harry knows it, so he’s pouting to ignore the fact that he cares. Niall is staring, slack jawed, at Harry. “You can have it, yeah? I don’t want to work with Tomlinson. At all.”

They head to the library, and Niall is physically glowing, bouncing up and down and thanking him a million times over. He won’t, however, stop asking why Harry doesn’t want to work with Louis.

Harry caves after the 19th time that Niall asks. “We fucked.”

Niall hears him, but he starts to list off possible causes for Katie’s case as he keeps a carefully measured look on his face. “It could be…” Harry shoots them all down with dozens of reason why it can’t be those four, because he knows this case by heart, now. He should know how to fix her.

“Was it… good? He looks like he’d be a good shag.” Niall finally comments, scribbling notes down on a pad of paper, not meeting Harry’s eye. Harry doesn’t respond to it.

Instead, “It’s just… we need to save her. What if no one can save her…” He tugs on his curls. “She’s only fifteen, you know? That’s barely… god, I hadn’t done anything yet at fifteen.”

“Hell, I still haven’t.” Niall adds on, laughing.

His laugh is kind of contagious. “She’s in pageants, you know? That’s her thing, that’s why she wants out of here so badly. And her… her…” Harry is giggling into his palm now, the stress of the day finally easing out of him. “Her talent is ‘ _Rhythmic Gymnastics_ ’.”

Niall cackles. “What the fuck does that even mean?!”

That’s when it hits Harry. This time, it’s the diagnosis for Katie. This time, he knows what to do.

“It’s an aneurysm. I don’t know why we can’t see it on the scans, but. It’s there, we just have to look closer.” Harry nearly feels high on the realization. 

Louis is ecstatic when they run the scan and find the minuscule, but still there, aneurysm  “She’s bleeding into her brain!” It’s an odd thing for him to be happy about, but Louis is practically bouncing around, happy to finally have some answers for her parents. “Good work, you two. How'd you figure it out?"

Harry scratches his neck, pulls at the skin there and wishes Louis would stop asking him questions and making him talk to him because it's frustrating, Louis is frustrating. "Well she mentioned she fell, in Gymnastics practice last week. It was minor, or whatever, but. Have to check for it all, yeah?"

Louis quirks a smile. "You actually listened to that fifteen year old girl ranting about her life?" He seems to approve. "Bravo, much more patient than I am." He turns to fill out another sheet of paperwork, finding the pencil behind his ear and jotting things down in a messy manuscript.

“Ah, Dr. Tomlinson, you said that-” Niall’s nervous, running a hand through blonde hair as his accent becomes stronger, the nerves getting to him. “Well, you said that if we helped you find the reasoning, one of us could scrub in?”

“Oh, yes, of course.” He looks them over. “Sorry I can’t take both of you lads, but, it’s really quite full. I’ll see you in the OR, Dr. Styles.”

\------

George has to tell his patients family that they lost him. He’s practically having a fit, curled up on one of the cots as Niall complains about Harry to Liam. 

“He’s a complete prick. He practically promised me the surgery!”

Liam sighs, scratching his head. “I’m sure it was a misunderstanding, he probably just-“

Harry appears in the doorway then, heaving a sigh. 

George stands up. “I am not getting involved- I’m leaving, now. You guys fight like girls.” He stands up, straightens out his scrubs, and heads for the door. “I’m on your side, though,” he murmurs to Harry, and if Harry weren’t so completely torn he would probably be thankful for the knowledge.

“Look, Niall. I can still give it to you! All I have to do is just talk to Louis and-“

Niall rolls his eyes. “Oh, shut it. I don’t fucking care, at least I know I got into this program because I can actually do my job, not because my mums famous and I slept with my boss.” 

Harry freezes. Liam, well, he definitely freezes. Harry’s finding it hard to breath, the air sucked out of the room like a vacuum decided it wasn’t needed anymore. All he can think to do is walk away.

Harry finds Louis in Katie’s room, shaving half of her head as he preps her for surgery. She's knocked out cold, snoring loudly.

“All right?” Louis asks, after glancing up. Harry thinks he might be the most beautiful person he’s ever met. 

“ ‘m fine.”

“You excited to scrub in?” 

Harry hesitates. “I can’t. You should ask Horan, yeah? He deserves it, and he wants it really bad.”

Louis puts the razor down and carefully shifts Katie’s sleeping form so that she lies comfortable on the bed. “What are you on about?”

“Did you pick me for the surgery because we shagged?”

Louis smiles a bit, at the memory. “Well, of course I did.” There’s a long pause, and Louis can see Harry’s ears turn red (whether it’s from annoyance or embarrassment, Louis can’t tell, but it’s fairly adorable either way). “Harry, I’m pulling you. Look, I chose you because you’re good. You know what you’re doing, and  _you_  deserve this one. Don’t let me hold you back.”

Later, Harry finds George with red rubbed eyes and tear tracked cheeks. 

“I had to tell the wife about her husband. It’s just- that was the absolute worst thing I’ve ever had to do.” He sniffs, lets his head fall into his hands. “What if I’m not cut out for this?”

Harry doesn’t respond, because he doesn’t know. What if they aren’t cut out for this, if this isn’t where they’re supposed to be and what they’re supposed to be doing? “I wish I wanted to be something else,” Harry starts, and George looks at him. “I could have been a school teacher, or work in a restaurant, or… anything. Anything but this.”

“You know, I would have been a really good postal worker. I’m dependable.” George laughs at himself. “You know, my parents tell everyone they meet that their son’s a surgeon, as if it’s this  big accomplishment. Like I’m a superhero, or something. If they could see me now…” He bites his lip, leans his head against the glass of the window. 

“My mum didn’t think I had what it took to be a surgeon. She tried to convince me to drop med school, said I wouldn’t last a minute. So, you should be happy, you know. That your parents think you’re a superhero.”

“We’ll survive this, right?”

Harry smiles, thinks of them moving forward, past their first shift, their first days. Moving on to be real doctors and surgeons and saving lives. “Of course.”

\------

The Zayn kid is killing his patient. Harry can hear the argument from fifteen feet away, can hear Simon Cowell screeching about how immature and childish it was to assume his patients disorder was Pneumonia based on her charts, without running any tests. Harry’s a little bit amused, watching Zayn be put back in his place.

“Dr. Malik, please name the common causes of post-op fever.” Cowell says, and Harry almost pities Zayn when he pulls out a notepad. “From your nut, dear god, not from a bloody book.”

Zayn panics. “Ah, the common causes of post-op fever are…”

He can’t answer it, Harry can tell. 

“Can anyone name the common causes of post-op fever for me?” Cowell says, and the room turns quiet with interns pulling out notepads and books and reference materials.

“Wind, water, wound, walking, wonder drugs. The 5 W’s. Most of the time it’s wind- splinting, or Pneumonia.” Harry pauses, eyeing Zayn. He knows that Zayn picked Pneumonia because it requires little to no effort to care for, and it irks him. “Pneumonia is easy to assume, especially when you’re too ‘busy’ to do the tests.”

Simon looks at him. “What do you think is wrong with the patient, then?”

“The fourth W, walking. I think she’s a prime candidate for a pulmonary embolism.”

“How would you diagnose?” 

“Spiral CT, VQ scan, provide 02, dose with Heparin and consult for an IVC filter.”

The room falls silent with Cowell’s obvious approval. He turns to Zayn. “Do exactly what he’s said, stat.” He offers a wry smile to Harry. “You look exactly like your mother. Welcome to the game.”

\------

Katie’s surgery goes well. Harry operates and Niall is okay because he says Harry deserves it, even if he’s an arsehole for stealing it. And when their first 48 hour shift is finally up, and Harry has time to look at everything he’s done today, he feels like he could faint.

Every moment of being a surgeon is painful. Every second, they’re on edge. They worry and the beat themselves up and try their best to not screw up, but it happens. Harry doesn’t know why he loves it, but he does. And it’s enough to make all of the stress and pain and worrying worth it.

He tells his mum this, when he goes to visit her afterwards, tells her as they sit in the waiting room of the home she has to stay in. Tells her how he doesn’t think he wants to sell her house, anymore, because it’s home. How he’ll have to get roommates, but it’s okay, because the other interns are probably looking, anyways. 

“You’d really like them, mum,” He says, taking a swig from a water bottle. “Ni’s kind of an arse, but it’s good. I like it. Liam’s- god, Liam’s annoying sometimes, but he’s sweet. George is kind of a mess, but it’s impossible not to love him. Things are… it’s nice, mum. I like it.”

His mother stares at him, confusion rolling over her features. “Are you my doctor?”

It still stings, after all this time, to watch her black out, to watch the years slip away until he’s something unrecognizable to her eyes. “No, I’m not your doctor.”

“What’s your name?” She asks him.

“It’s me, mum. It’s Harry.”

Harry doesn’t know when this is supposed to get easier, but he hopes it’s soon.

**_fin_ **

****

**Author's Note:**

> If I get enough good feedback  
> (you can reach at my my one direction blog, [ziamo](http://ziamo.tumblr.com), or my personal,
> 
> [aboutyourpast](http://aboutyourpast.tumblr.com)
> 
> I'll definitely be continuing with the series. So, just, tell me what you think, and such. :)


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